Only Him
by A pink lady
Summary: Set in between the week that Dave is outed and his attempted suicide. This is Dave's story, what transpired between the lines of canon, and what led him to take such desperate measures. One-Sided Kurtofsky Warnings:Homophobic Language & suicide attempt.


A/N:

This idea has been bugging me since _On My Way _aired. In this, I wanted to get to know Dave a little better and write the reasons why I think he tried to commit suicide.

Thanks to **meghan84** for having a read over it for me and helping me out!

xxxx

There are some moments in life that you remember forever. Some, you've worked for, waited so long for- like winning your first football game, or gaining a scholarship. That moment when the world seems to change around you; you see things in a slightly different way. The future is clearer and brighter than ever; your heart beats faster and the smile broadens.

But there are some that you don't predict. Ones that you don't work for, that you try to run from, There are ones that cut your breath off and darken that future. When the smiles and warmth of your teammates conclusively turns into disgust and they close in around you like animals around prey.

FAG.

He hadn't had that locker long; an unthreatening grey colour as opposed to McKinley's harsh red ones. He was proud when he had been accepted on the team and been given a locker. It meant it was part of the team and it was _his. _Now it betrayed the one secret about himself that he had tried so hard to hide.

_They all knew. _

He turned; suddenly faced with Nick, who crossed his hands over his chest and tilted his head back, smirking.

"That's terrible," he drawled, but his voice portrayed no manner of sympathy. _It was him. He knew. He saw me. He saw Kurt. _

The football kit slung over his shoulder suddenly felt unbearably heavy, his hands slipping as he tried to readjust his grip. Inside that bag lay the safety of his kit. Without it, he felt weak, vulnerable. Exposed. He swallowed, forced his feet forward.

Then Nick shoved him into the locker and as he crashed against the cold metal, it echoed every push he inflicted on Kurt. Because he was gay. Like him.

Without looking back, he fled the locker room, ignoring the taunts and jeers in his wake.

xxxxx

His mom had found out before he even got home, Dave knew she had. For even before he left the locker room, it had started. Messages filled up his Facebook feed, clogging it with poisonous words. His phone was constantly beeping; tweets, texts, Facebook notifications… But his mother just carried on, continued the pretence that she didn't know a thing. Dave didn't correct her. He didn't say a word. She just pursed her lips at the sight of him and then pushed forward with her chores.

So Dave stayed hidden in his room, reading the comments as they picked up pace, over and over again.

He didn't reply to them either.

xxxxx

"Tell me it's not true."

With his mouth twisted and his hands knitted over his chest, Azimio didn't even allow Dave to greet him before grabbing his arm roughly and dragging him out into the meticulously neat lawn.

"What's true?"

Dave tried to feign ignorance; it had worked so well in the past. A naïve part of him hoped he didn't know. That he hadn't seen his Facebook wall, his twitter page. The pages and pages of slurs. And his silence to it. That shred of hope was all he had left.

"That you're queer."

Dave flinched, immediately glancing around, hoping, and praying that no-one had heard. He tried to respond, to defend himself, to lie. But his dry lips remained closed.

"Oh I don't believe this," he sneered. "All this time, you've been one of them?"

Azimo's voice grew louder and louder and Dave looked again wildly in case the neighbours were snooping. But they were alone.

"Please, can you keep your voice down-"

"Why? Are you ashamed? You should be."

There was a clatter, Dave looked around; Mr Peterson was now stood on his doorstep with a bag of rubbish in one hand, pretending to act busy. Dave begun to sweat, the palms of his hands itching.

"Come inside and I'll explain-"

"I ain't going no-where with you, might be contagious or something! I _knew_ you spent too much time with _Hummel_ last year!"

"We've been friend for years, Az, if it was 'contagious' wouldn't it have happened before?" Dave snapped, his nails digging into his palm.

"I don't know you at all, Karofsky," Azimio retorted. "Always knew there was something wrong with you! I should have trusted my gut before."

Dave coiled his hands into fists, years of friendship dissolving before his very eyes.

"That's not true! You know me- I'm your best friend!" Dave began, taking a step towards him. Azimio recoiled.

"There's no way we're friends anymore," Azimo declared. "I don't ever want to see you again, _freak._ Go and join Hummel in his rainbow castle or something."

Dave remained on his spot as his best friend turned from him as if being near to him was physically painful. The one friend he had hoped would listen, would try to understand- hated him.

Back in his room, his mom had neatly stacked a pile of leaflets on his desk, talking about some kind of camp. He ripped them up into as many pieces as he could, before balling them into his hand and throwing them out of the window.

It fell like confetti onto the neatly arranged lawn.

xxxxx

The days passed in isolation as the comments stacked up, former friends becoming the primary contributors, some even threatening to show up at his house. He had tried calling Kurt, but with no answer. He used to turn up at Kurt's house, he and the other jocks, years ago. They'd wait, they'd plan. Find the best way to humiliate him, just for the fun of it. Then they'd strike.

That evening, he finally tried to talk to his mom.

"Where's Azimio these days? I haven't seen him in a while," she asked, busying herself with the stacks of freshly cleaned cutlery. Azimio. Dave's stomach clenched.

"We don't speak anymore," Dave said quietly, his heart thumping. "After what… after what he found out."

His mom spared him a glance, but refused to look him in the eye.

"Well that's ridiculous, it's not true," his mom said. "They're just silly rumours."

Dave remained silent for a moment.

"Well actually mom," Dave started, his voice shaking. "I want to talk to you about that…"

There was a crash as the cutlery fell from her grasp and clattered on the stone flooring beneath their feet.

"Oh look at this mess," she muttered, stooping down to pick it up.

"Let me help." Dave immediately bent down and reached for the spoons near to him.

"I can do it," she snapped, snatching them up, her back facing him, her long black hair tied up in a severe bun. "Look, I'm very busy at the moment; we'll speak later, okay?"

Dave nodded, his lips feeling numb. Upstairs, he thought about calling Kurt, but he stopped. Kurt wouldn't be interested.

He muffled his cries with his pillow until they were drenched, falling asleep half strewn across the bed, still in the days clothes.

xxxxx

Two days passed before his mom spoke to him again. She called him down from his bedroom and Dave had immediately rushed down, hoping that perhaps she'd say something to help.

"Oh there you are," she said as he stepped into the kitchen. He coughed as the smell of bleach burnt his nose.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Dave asked, his voice quiet as he shuffled towards her. His hands were dug deep in his pockets.

"Yes, I have just been off the phone with the pastor and he says that there's a way to sort all this mess out," she said, nodding her head.

"But we're not religious."

"Well, perhaps if we were, this would never have happened," she said, her tone biting. "But we will fix this."

The countertops were already gleaming and everything in neat piles; even the dishcloths were in a neat pile beside the oven.

"Mom, please just stop a minute-"

"Can't you see that I'm busy?" she snapped, ripping a draw open and taking out a cloth. "Life doesn't completely revolve around you. What with your father away on business, I have twice as much to do around here."

Dave took a deep breath in as she rushed over to the sink to soak the cloth. The taps squeaked, as they always did.

"What do you want me to do?" Dave asked, his voice betraying him as it cracked. "Please tell me what to do."

"I'm gonna get rid of this… _thing_," she said, glancing at him for a brief second with an expression he could only describe as disgust.

"Thing?" Dave echoed. But there was no mistaking what her words meant.

"This… this disgusting disease," she said, gesturing in his direction with one cursory hand. "Before it gets any worse. God forbid."

"But I don't have a disease," Dave replied, taking a step away from her.

"Yes you do, if you think you're…" she composed herself, furiously scrubbing the counter with a cloth.

"I did not raise you that way."

Dave wanted to scream… _I've tried… You have no idea… _but instead he just stayed on his spot, gripping the counter so hard his fingers were white. _It wasn't my choice. It wasn't a choice at all._

"What if I can't be cured?" Dave choked out.

"It's not up for discussion," she said. "This person…. this is not my son. But we will fix you. Bring my son back to me."

"But I'm right here!" Dave cried, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder. But she pulled away; moving briskly to arm's length.

"What about that nice girl you went to the Prom with?" she asked abruptly. Dave blinked.

"Santana?" Dave replied, as his mother nodded.

"What happened with her? You two seemed happy."

_No_, Dave thought. _No they weren't_… _Lopez is a lesbian_ _and he's…_

He remembered Prom. How they humiliated Kurt, because they hated him. Kurt had been proved wrong; things weren't getting better. They were getting worse.

"That's a shame," his mom said, pursing her lips. "She was nice. _Pretty_ too."

"I was never interested in her," Dave said, gathering up courage. "Because-"

"Go to your room," mom broke in sharply. "I will call you for dinner."

Numbly, Dave left the room. He vaguely registered that his mom hadn't called him by his name once since she found out. Back in his room, his mind drifted to Kurt again.

It all came back to him. Kurt. So proud, so out there. He didn't care what people thought of him, he just was. Last year, Dave saw him every day and this anger, this fury would build up, build up and he'd just want to hurt him, to make him feel pain, so that he'd stop. So Dave wouldn't have to be reminded every day that people like him…. He wanted to purge himself of that feeling in his gut, the tiny feeling that grew every moment that _wanted _Kurt. Wanted to touch him, even just for a second. So that's what he did, he slammed him into the lockers, but it wasn't enough, he wanted to grip his nails into Kurt's arm, grip him tighter, tighter… He couldn't stop, because if he did, he wouldn't get to feel him anymore. Hear that tiny whimper of pain that escaped unwillingly from tightly closed lips, and Dave would feel powerful. In control. He could control him, Kurt's power didn't work over him, not those stupid blue eyes or hair or those clothes that were too tight to be acceptable for school…

He collapsed on his bed, bunching the material of his quilt in one hand.

He had tried to take Kurt's hand on Valentine's Day. But it was not in anger anymore. He was beginning to understand. But it was too late. The brief moment of contact died as Kurt pulled his hand away, knotting it amongst the other, and _he _was mentioned. Kurt's prep school boyfriend. He was the only other person who knew about him before Nick. He was brought back to reality and suddenly the room felt too small, the flowers and hearts around him too bright and mocking. Because even though Kurt said he had forgiven him, he hadn't forgotten. He never would. In his eyes, Dave was probably a monster, a beast. He should never have thought he'd be anything else. Kurt was beautiful, he couldn't deny it anymore. But what was he? Not his type, Kurt had told him. Right before… right before Dave had grabbed his face and… 'hate kissed him' as Kurt had also said. But it wasn't hate. It never was. He had gotten too close. His words had hit too close.

"What are you so scared of?" he'd shouted.

This.

He tightened his grip on the quilt, itching to pull it tighter, to rip it, anything just to claw out the pain.

Why couldn't he just play football and have a normal life? No, he didn't deserve that much. It was his own fault, years of bullying others had turned on him and everything was closing in around him. No matter what he did, where he went, it was there. His mother's coldness as she ignored him whenever he walked in the room, his phone had almost met its end out of his bedroom window, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to stop looking at the comments. He couldn't leave the house in case people saw him. They'd laugh; they'd taunt and throw insults that were hauntingly familiar; for he'd slung them himself over and over. But that was what he was. He didn't deserve any better. He deserved to die.

He should die.

For the third time that day, he reached for his phone. It was littered with texts, all anonymous. All the same. For they didn't have the guts to reveal who they were, they just lay their hate behind the safety of anonymity. Physically shaking, he rang Kurt's number.

No answer.

xxxxx

There are some moments when you make a decision, a big one. One that you know would change everything. Everything he feared had come true. He had lost everything. His friends, his family, football. What was there left? More insults? More hatred? Every day he awoke to more abuse, more taunts. Even his mom wouldn't look at him. It would never end.

As if by autopilot, he walked over to his closet. Looked up. Saw something. Had an idea.

He called Kurt again. Silence. Stomach clenched. There's nothing left. Even Kurt, he hated him, always had, always will. Still scared of him.

Was this the only answer?

With this decision brings a bright moment of clarity something akin to relief washes over you. Because you _will_ change things; you have that power. There's a way out. The only way out. The only way to make it stop. Because things won't get better. He couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't carry on like this. There was no other way.

He pulled out his best suit. Laid it across his bed neatly. Tears dripped from his chin and scattered across the clothes. His legs felt heavy. Soon, he told himself. Soon it would stop.

He was useless. No one would miss him. He'd be doing the world a favour. At least then it would stop. His phone lit up again and he momentarily thought it could be Kurt. But it isn't. Of course it isn't. It would never be him. It was comments, some more football people.

He dressed in silence, tears dripping `in a steady silent stream down his face. He reached for the belt, pulled it taut between his hands. His legs took him back to the closet. _Well_, Dave thought to himself. _I'll be going back in the closest, at least_. mom_ would be pleased. _

Shaking, he reached for his chair. It would only take a step.

The last thing he thought of when he dropped is Kurt, only Kurt.

It's always Kurt.


End file.
